


Healing

by isabeau, Miriam (isabeau)



Series: Ghosts [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Gen, Really old fic (pre-2000)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-01
Updated: 2000-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/pseuds/isabeau, https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/pseuds/Miriam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are different forms of hurt, and different forms of healing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Ghost that Jenny demanded; and while I was busy trying to tell her no, Oz and Willow decided that since I was writing it anyway (hah!) I might as well throw stuff with them...at which point, I knew I was sunk, and I'm sure you're thinking I'm nuts. What can I say, I'm a writer.

Oz towered over the bed, trying to look like a menacing Angel of-- well,  
not Death, but Angel of Sleep sounded a bit too warm and fuzzy-- and  
failing.

"Sleep," he ordered.

"Don't wanna," Willow said, her expression dangerously close to a pout.

"The doctors told you to sleep. The doctors also released you from the  
hospital yesterday, and I don't think they'd be too happy if you had to  
go back in because I was forced to beat you into submission." Oz tried  
to look stern, but it was hard not to smile. Willow, as usual, looked  
utterly angelic, even though she was half covered with bandages.

"Oz, I've done nothing but sleep for the last three days!"

"And this is the second time in about as many months that you've been in  
fairly critical condition." He sat on the edge of her bed and stroked  
her cheek with the back of his hand. "Willow, baby, I know it's not the  
most fun thing...but please?"

Willow shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not even tired. Could I at least  
have a book or something?"

"The doctors said sleep." He grinned down at her, a teasing glint in his  
eyes. "Besides, if you had a book, I'd have to turn the pages for you,  
and I don't feel like sitting here for that long."

"Careful," Willow raised her left arm, still in a splint, and shook it  
threateningly at him, "or I'll smack you over the head with this."

"That would hurt, though. Hurt you, I mean."

"Yeah, but it would hurt you too." She glared at him in mock anger.

He thought for a minute. "Would you promise to try to sleep," he  
offered, "if I sing for you?"

"Ooh." She squirmed down deeper into the bed, pulling the blankets up to  
her chin. "Can't stay mad at you with an offer like that."

He smiled.

*****

Giles poured himself a cup of tea. It was his third cup in five  
minutes. Jenny was glad it was tea, not something stronger; his hands  
were shaking enough as it was. With careful, precise movements he set  
his cup down, used both hands to set the teapot down, replaced the lid  
that had jiggled loose, picked up his cup, raised it almost to his lips,  
and set the cup back down without drinking. All without looking up at  
her.

*Maybe I shouldn't have come back.* Jenny stared down at her hands and  
at the cooling cup of tea he'd poured for her. *Maybe it would have been  
easier to just stay away.*

He took off his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief. It was a  
nervous gesture-- they couldn't have gotten all *that* dirty in the two  
minutes since he'd last cleaned them.

"Jenny," he began, sounding like he wasn't sure he should be talking, and  
then stopped for long enough to drain the cup of tea and pour another.

*Wow, he remembers my name. I'm impressed.* The sarcasm, Jenny knew,  
was as much a reflex defense for her as fiddling with his glasses was for  
him. She kept her thoughts to herself.

"I, uh..." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for what I said in the  
hospital. The, uh, the accusations, and the..." He ran one hand through  
his hair. "It was inappropriate, a-a-and I apologise."

He looked up, then, and Jenny flinched at the pain in his eyes. It  
wasn't just embarrassment at having said something wrong-- it was more  
than that, and deeper than anything that happened in the past few hours.  
He looked tired and far too old.

"No." Jenny looked down at her hands again, anything other than meeting  
his gaze. She'd caused a lot of his pain, she knew. "What you said was  
right, and you had...they were things that needed to be said." She took  
a deep breath and steeled herself to continue. "Truth was, I thought  
about you...thought about coming back...I was just too afraid."

She almost wanted to stop there, but she made the mistake of looking  
up. He was giving her his kicked-puppy look again-- though it was more  
reminiscent of a starving street mongrel than a fat round ball of golden  
retriever puppy-- and she forced more words out. "What I said to you  
before I left...that was all true. But I also...I guess I just didn't  
want to see...I didn't want to cause you more pain--"

He laughed, a little bitterly, and she gave a rueful smile to acknowledge  
the irony. "I know. But there wasn't anything I could have done that  
wouldn't have hurt you."

"You could have stayed."

The raw pain in his voice brought tears sharply to her eyes; she kept her  
head down, staring at the floor, not wanting him to see her crying. "And  
make more mistakes, hurt you further?" She shook her head. "I wasn't  
lying when I said my family ordered me back...but I was almost a little  
afraid to stay." Jenny rubbed her temples, trying to drive away an  
impending headache. "I don't know if the spell worked, even; it felt  
like it did, but that rarely means anything."

"We haven't seen either Angelus or Angel," Giles said quietly. "But on  
the bright side of things, this isn't hell, so either Buffy won, or  
returning Angel's soul nullified his bond with Acathla."

"Did Buffy ever...?"

"No." It was an almost-inaudible whisper. Jenny clenched her hands into  
fists, fighting tears again, not sure what to say. A moment of silence  
stretched into minutes.

"Maybe I should go," she ventured, half hoping he'd ask her to stay. He  
said nothing. Jenny stood, trying not to shake too hard. She didn't look  
at him-- didn't dare. She hurt enough already.

She forced herself to concentrate-- one step, then another, until she was  
at the door. Her fingers rested on the handle. Giles had stayed silent,  
not even making a sound; she looked up to say goodbye one last time before  
she fled. And stopped.

Giles had steepled his fingers, index fingers pressed against his mouth,  
thumbs under his chin, with his elbows resting on his knees. He was  
staring at nothing, roughly in the direction of the teapot.

And it was very, painfully obvious that he was crying.

*****

She'd fallen asleep, finally; Oz suspected that despite her protestations,  
she was more tired than she would ever admit. Healing took a lot of  
energy-- it had taken her forever, it seemed, to fully heal from the last  
time she'd been injured.

*Hope you don't mind if I use your phone,* he thought at her. If her  
parents were there, he'd ask them instead, but they were out of town for  
two weeks. He dialed the number by heart.

"Hey, Devon."

'Oz! Where are you, man? We've got rehearsal in half an hour.'

"So I don't show up hours in advance; I do have a life. Look-- Devon, I  
can't come to rehearsal today."

'What?! Why?'

"Willow's been injured, her parents are out of town, she needs someone to  
take care of her." Devon gave a derisive snort, and Oz flushed with  
irritation. "I'm serious, Devon. Call the hospital if you don't believe  
me. Besides-- if Marissa were in the same position, you wouldn't  
hesitate to call off the rehearsal, would you?"

There was silence from the other end, and Oz smiled grimly. Marissa was  
Devon's latest Object of Desire; she was young, blond, and quite  
brainless, and Devon was hopelessly smitten.

"Fine," Devon said curtly. "Just be back on Thursday."

"I'll be back when Willow doesn't need me any more," Oz said, and hung  
up.

"Whossat?" Willow said sleepily from behind him.

"Just Devon." Oz smiled at his redheaded angel. "Nothing to worry  
about."

"Okay," she said, her voice cheerful if a little sleep-slurred.

"Go to sleep," Oz said gently.

"Sing?"

"You're getting spoiled." He fetched his guitar again and strummed it  
gently.

*****

*Omigod.*

Jenny actually forgot to breathe for a moment; and then she was flying  
across the room to him, drawing him into a hug, forgetting about  
everything but the fact that he was hurting. One hand fluttered against  
his face, wiping the tears, trying to smooth away the lines of pain and  
exhaustion around his mouth and eyes.

Months ago, she was fairly sure he would have welcomed her attention--  
been flustered, maybe, but welcomed it. Now, he didn't react except to  
pull stiffly away.

And then reality crashed down on her again, and she remembered what  
they'd been talking about-- remembered why he was hurting. Biting her  
lip, she stood up and turned away, arms wrapped tightly about herself,  
fighting a losing battle with her own pain.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, not quite sure what she was apologising  
for. Everything, maybe.

The couch creaked as he stood up, but he didn't go far. She could hear  
running water from the kitchen, then silence again. Hesitantly, she  
turned around.

He was standing next to the sink, elbows on the counter, face in his  
hands. His glasses were off, set carefully on the counter on the other  
side of the sink. Jenny considered leaving him alone, but then shook her  
head. *Running away is what got you into this mess,* she told herself.  
*It's not going to solve anything now.*

Biting her lip, she went into the kitchen and lightly touched his  
shoulder. Muscles twitched beneath her hand.

"Rupert," she said, and stopped, not at all sure what to say.

He didn't move. "How many times do I have to lose you?" he said  
hoarsely.

Jenny took a step back, startled. That, of all things, wasn't what she  
was expecting. She stared at him. "What?"

Finally he lowered his hands away from his face, dropping them to the  
countertop; but he didn't look at her. He kept his gaze forward and  
down. "How many times," he repeated, "do I bloody have to *lose* you?"  
His voice was a little less muffled, since he wasn't speaking into his  
hands, but no less pained.

"I--" she said, and stopped.

"Buffy's gone. Willow's been nearly killed, twice in as many months.  
And you--" Giles choked, swallowed hard. "I keep almost-having  
you...and then losing..." He closed his eyes and pressed his mouth into  
a tight, thin line.

Jenny found herself crying again, and didn't even bother to fight it.  
She almost stepped forward to touch him, reassure him, but her legs  
threatened to give out if she moved. "You haven't lost me this time,"  
she said.

"Yes I have." He didn't even open his eyes. "You're leaving-- again."

"Not if you don't want me to." The words spilled out almost before she  
could think about them.

He turned, gripping the counter with one white-knuckled hand; his face  
was a taut mask of pain. "I didn't want you to leave last time, either,  
but that didn't stop you. And I would rather have died than see Angelus  
hurt you, but that wasn't likely to deter *him*."

"I won't leave," she said again, and meant it. "Not if you want me to  
stay. I came back because of Willow, but I... I wasn't sure if you'd  
even want to see me."

"How could I not?" He touched her cheek, then pulled back, fumbling for  
his glasses but not putting them on. "I loved you."

She mirrored his gesture, trailing her fingers gently down the hollow of  
his cheek. "Do you still?"

He looked at her for a long moment, and then kissed her-- it was fierce  
and almost painful, but for her it was answer enough.

*****

Willow was asleep, again, but Oz sat for a long time, just watching her.  
Asleep she looked younger, more peaceful, without the worried crease in  
her forehead that seemed to be almost permanent now. She was involved in  
a lot of stuff Oz knew he was mostly unaware of. Secrets were okay; he  
was cool with them, even though the ones she held involved pain, both  
physical and emotional.

Watching her sleep, he knew she'd heal. It would take time, and  
patience, but she would heal, eventually.

And he would be there for her.

Always.

[end]


End file.
